


Unfamiliar faces

by Residesatshamecentral



Series: A Plague On Both Your Houses [3]
Category: SS-GB (TV)
Genre: Espionage, Evil!Springer, Huth the reluctant spy, Morally bankrupt Albrecht Springer, References to Genocide, Springer the blatant expy of Arthur Nebe, THE COLD WAR, Terrorism, bespoke spy stuff, look it up alright?, or if you prefer - Freeform, or if you really want to be honest, the 1950s, toxic father/son relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-03 01:33:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16316588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Residesatshamecentral/pseuds/Residesatshamecentral
Summary: Part two of the 1950s-set AU. Huth is adrift on the French Riviera where he encounters a terrorist organisation led by a very familiar face…





	Unfamiliar faces

“Surprised that you of all people would go commie” said Huth. He leaned back in his chair so that the front legs lifted slightly from the floor. Springer watched him with slightly raised eyebrows. His expression was familiar, weathered and tarnished by age and something darker. It was the mixture of indulgence and dry self-reproach with which he had always greeted the younger man’s antics. To Huth is was oddly shocking: Springer’s face had become strangely pouched in the last decade, swollen from underneath and smoothed with hypocrisy. Far from the steely soldier troops had trembled before, Springer looked like a soviet caricature of a corrupt priest. His girth did nothing to lessen the resemblance.

“I am not a communist” he replied eventually “nor was I ever a beefsteak Nazi, as you well know. The soviets are a means to an end, nothing more.”

“But you collect intelligence for them.”

“The org needs funding, and a way to remain undercover. It is them or the Americans – although I believe there is a faction working for the Americans -”

“The Viennese lot, I know.”

“Frankly I prefer the soviets. The Americans have that extra level of hypocrisy that makes them just slightly beyond the bounds of tolerance.”

“They are hunting you of course.”

“Of course. And if they caught me I would have two options. Place myself and the org at their disposal or be tried for war crimes, as if that absurd phrase were not a contradiction in terms.”

There was a strange pause. Huth toyed with his cigarette, avoiding Springer’s eyes. A faint smile played around his lips, like a spider seeking shelter. Springer’s hard eyes remained fixed on him for long seconds, until finally he reached out and placed his index finger deliberately on Huth’s wrist. The front legs of the chair met the floor again with a small crash.

“So that is how I get you to look at me now” said Springer evenly. “Would you care to drop the act?”

“Albrecht” said Huth. Nothing more occurred to him, so the word hung in the air. Springer studied him silently. The index finger remained where it was, like a question mark. Huth had the absurd sensation that his flesh was trying to crawl away from it.

“…Is there anything you wish to say?” said Springer’s soft tones eventually. “You know you can never hide your thoughts from me. We know each other too well. And if you work for the org you will eventually say it anyway. Get it off your chest, Oskar.”

“After ten years of comfortably bottling up my emotions? Why break a finely cultivated habit?”

“Oskar.”

There was a subtle ring of iron in the word. Beyond the closed door, a guard coughed softly and shifted on his feet.

“…It is very hard” Huth whispered. The words came out in a rasp, his face almost immobile. His eyes were on the wall again, defiantly fixed there. “And it is harder still that it should be you.”

Springer studied his face for some moments. His hand closed gently around Huth’s wrist, then released him as he sat back. “Hard” he agreed softly. “Yes, it will be hard for you that I was involved. I am glad I kept you out of it…the worst of it anyway…”

“I know how much I owe you.”

“…And I know that you will be able to see that when you have to kill others to preserve your own life, eventually the numbers make no difference.”

Huth turned his head and smiled at him. It was a strange, weak smile, with something essential boiled out of it. Springer met it with one of his own, and they sat frozen in a moment, two lone animals showing their teeth across a space.

***

Huth walked for forty minutes after leaving the cramped office building, hoping to lull his tail into a false sense of security. Then, as though it had just occurred to him, he leaped onto a bus just as its doors were shutting, getting off without warning at an ill-lit street corner. After ten minutes of brisk walking through a network of alleyways, he hailed a cab and paid the driver to give him a quick tourist’s view of the Riviera – for, as the drawling, half-drunk German announced expansively, when you have just got off a plane to conduct and ad hoc business deal, you have to make the most of a trip, and he had an hour to spare before dinner.

The tourist trip was conducted to a constant litany of slurred bilingual rambling occasionally broken by the driver’s attempts to explain the sites to his annoying fare. Finally, the relieved man deposited Huth opposite the Grand Hotel, waiting patiently as his money was ceremoniously counted out for him. He did not bother to look back as he drove away, or he might have noticed how steadily the ostensibly drunk man was walking.

On a table in a room, a phone rang. A withered hand picked up the receiver.

“Hallo?”

“I’m in” said Huth. “I spoke to him. He had me tailed but I lost them.”

“Oh good. I shall tell the cook to expect a guest for dinner.”


End file.
